


I'll Stand Besides Myself So I'm Not Alone

by f1rstperson



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Inhuman Cecil, M/M, also human cecil, carlos is a big dork, cecil is jealous of himself, everyone is a big dork, gratuitous desert descriptions and scenery porn, kind of trippy fic, multiple cecils, oops there's kind of a plot, polyamory and/or selfcest, that's a reoccuring theme here, there are also dumb cactus jokes, what i'm getting at here is there's going to be a multi-cecil on carlos gangbang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f1rstperson/pseuds/f1rstperson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are multiple Cecil's who all work jobs invaluable to the people running Night Vale, and all of them think they're entitled to some time alone with Carlos. Except the self-proclaimed "actual and only" Cecil Baldwin, who will hear none of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Stand Besides Myself So I'm Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to daftalchemist for doing betas and being a wonderful source of motivation and inspiration in general~ 
> 
> I got this idea after listening to A Story About You, where they had a man who was not tall and a man who was not short chasing "you" to get back a stolen crate. Those descriptions were probably just recycled into later episodes, but the idea of Cecil being able to kind of bi-locate and exist in many places stuck with me.
> 
> This fic was completely fueled by Beck, which is why the title is a ref to his song Orphans. I think I listened to Modern Guilt about a hundred times while writing this.

Cecil liked to wake up slowly in the mornings. He’d have breakfast with tea (no sugar, bad for the voice) and watch the light from the sunrise stretch across the desert, soft and orange-pink like the flesh of a grapefruit, as he breathed in the dark sweet scent from the tea. Colors flooded the walls of his apartment before burning away into harsh daylight.

Next, he did his stretches: dropping down into splits, standing up and pulling his heel to the back of his head, bending backwards to touch his nose to his ankle. He remembered, for the fifth time this month, that he had wanted  to sign up with yoga classes with Carlos. The scientist had just squinted questioningly at him when Cecil asked what morning stretches he did to keep in shape. Cecil worried that Carlos’ joints and muscles might tense up and he might hurt himself, even if Carlos kept insisting he didn’t do enough to merit stretching beforehand. But Cecil’s morning routine made it easy to forget things like that.

Then he started his meditation, letting his shoulders droop and his body relax as he drew in slow, deep breaths. Cecil focused on the suffocating pool of black beneath his lids until he felt a heavy pressure building in his skull. His skin itched as a lump swelled in the middle of his forehead and then his skin cracked, forming a slit about two inches wide. Cecil sucked in air to the point where his lungs burned, and as he exhaled the slit in the middle of his head opened to reveal an incredibly blown-out pupil with an almost translucent ring of burnt yellow, surrounded by black sclera.

His other two eyes remained closed as he experimentally blinked his third eye once, then twice. It took a moment for it to adjust; at first, everything seemed like a dark grey etchings in a lustrous cloud of black. Then the room came into focus. Colors seeped into the air from every surface like smoke, turning to bright inverted hues as they floated upwards. The surfaces themselves seemed to shift and vibrate, making it appear as if the entire room was shaking. Cecil reached out, three hazy after-images of arms covered with the same black curling tattoos following after his own as he brushed a nearby table. The color glided with his hand before billowing back up towards the ceiling. He was pleased to note that the table was definitely not moving.

Cecil began to chant, the words so familiar to him that he didn’t need to think about them or even pay attention to himself as he spoke. As he neared the end of the chant the room began to spin. Beads of sweat formed on Cecil’s even paler blue face and his body was searing. The room kept twisting and heaving, as if it were trying to split its own image apart. A too-hot sour feeling settled in the back of his throat and spasmodic shivers tore through his body, but he squeezed his nails into his palm and steadied himself.

Suddenly, there was the sensation of his entire body being pulled in two opposite directions. It felt as if he would just tear in half, right down the middle. His mind twirled and everything he saw started moving into two images, like he was crossing his eyes. There was a feverish, boring pain against his skull. Cecil screamed, foamy spittle escaping his lips. Finally, something gave, and Cecil felt the back of his head connect with the floor, right as his face was crashing into the ground.

After resting face down on the carpet for a while, Cecil stood up and got dressed. All the sweat and spit was gone. There was an uncomfortable swelling where his cheekbone had met the ground, and after a moment of thought Cecil walked into the bathroom to get a bandage for it. He came out wearing a black suit, a white band-aid covered in smiley faces covering the swelling brown skin on his face. The furniture looked taller and the paintings placed higher than they had been before his “meditation”, but that was to be expected. He grabbed a suitcase and went to work. He also didn’t.

Cecil laid on his back, still covered in sweat and spit drying on his chin, having watched the him that was not tall get dressed and leave for work. He closed his third eye, not wanting to experience the sensations of his other self on top of his own at the moment. As he stood up, the wound on the back of his head pulsated. He grit his teeth, thankful that he had a few hours before he had to go to work. Looking around all his furniture seemed shorter and his paintings looked like they had been lowered, but that was to be expected.

He took a cold shower, or as cold as he could get it, standing still as the water flowed over him. The water left his milky blue skin feeling dry and tight across his body. Then he shaved his face and sharpened his teeth. You know, the usual morning stuff. White sunlight sat heavy in the apartment, flooding through the window, and outside the sky an expansive blanket of anemic blue. It hurt Cecil’s eyes when he tried to take it all in, felt like when he was a kid and would press his blue palms into his eyelids until the blackness broke into a kaleidoscope. He closed his eyes.

*****

“You look different today,” Carlos said through a sandwich, a glob of mustard running down the peppered scruff on his face.

The freezing currents from the air conditioning at Subway had been a relief after walking from work. Neither of them had cooled down yet, their skin radiating heat as they sat on icy and hard plastic chairs. The sandwiches, as always, were cold and kind of floppy. On the wall, a circular clock had its arms at 12:36pm.

“Oh, you noticed!” Cecil chirped. “I sharpened my teeth. Do you like it?”  
  
He opened his mouth to show Carlos, who shook his head and kept chewing. Cecil’s phone buzzed loudly from his pocket.

“No, it’s not that. I mean, I _did_ notice the teeth. They look fantastic, very dashing. Very, uh, shark-like,” he said, quickly covering as Cecil had started to pout, “I just… It seems like every day you look different in some way. I can’t put my finger on how, I’ve tried noting it down but…”   
  
Cecil squeaked and hid his face in his hands, squirming in his seat. His phone buzzed again.

“Oh, _Carlos_ , you’ve been taking notes! On _me_?! You are _such_ a great boyfriend. I’ve never had anyone put that kind of dedication into me.”

“Uh, well… Cecil, we talked about the boyfriend thing,” said Carlos. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I like you. I mean, I really like you. But I’m just not to that level yet.”

“Gah, I’m sorry! It just kind of… Came out,” Cecil said, blushing a dark indigo. His phone continued to buzz.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” said Carlos, trying to rub a mustard stain out of his red plaid shirt, “Uh, if you need to take that, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Cecil frowned and pulled out his phone. He read the texts and then rolled his eyes.   
  
“S’cuse me,” he said, heading towards the restroom.  
  
He returned a few minutes later, third eye opened. Carlos was still hunched over his sandwich. He stared for a bit at Cecil’s other eye, then back down at his two other ones, his face scrunched in concentration. Then, he seemed to remembered himself and pointedly avoided looking at the third eye, keeping his gaze at Cecil’s other two. Carlos cleared his throat. 

“Do you… Do you need to leave for work?” He asked.

Cecil shook his head and resumed eating. He then grimaced as the sudden taste of bologna and cheap american cheese filled his mouth while he tried to enjoy a turkey-cranberry sandwich. He placed it down and sighed. Carlos was still holding his gaze at Cecil’s two eyes. Trails of colors melted off Carlos, floating up from his coat and skin and hair and fading into strange inversions, but they were more translucent than the ones from morning.   
  
“You can look if you want,” Cecil said. “I don’t mind.”  
  
Carlos did, muttering to himself as he studied Cecil’s eye closely.

“So if it wasn’t for work then why…?”

Carlos gestured to his forehead to his hand. Indigo burned across Cecil’s cheeks again, and he lowered his head, creamy-grey bangs hiding his third eye as well as his other two.

“It’s… Complicated. I promise I’ll tell you sometime,” Cecil said, resting his chin on his knuckles.  
  
“Oh, uh, you know, don’t even worry about it!” Carlos said quickly, “I wasn’t thinking. Feel free to take as much time as you need to tell me. Not that I don’t want to know, because I do. I just… You know...”

He reached out to grab Cecil’s hand and resumed talking.

“I like it. The eye. Well, all your eyes. You know I like you no matter what you look like, right, Cecil?” Carlos said.

Cecil smiled into the back of his hand and looked out the window, watching grey-green speckles of leaves on an Ironwood flutter in the wind. Carlos squeezed Cecil’s hand. Despite sitting underneath an air vent for nearly half an hour, Cecil’s skin was still giving off serious heat. He didn’t seem uncomfortable though. He was now smiling fully at Carlos, the skin on his lips dry and cracked.

The scientist rubbed circles into Cecil’s skin with his thumb, his attention momentarily caught by long green veins that ran under Cecil’s skin. Further up his arm were bands of black tattoos, sharp-edged and geometric. There never seemed to be the same amount, and the designs seemed to change every day, or at least Carlos thought so. Maybe Night Vale was getting to him.

Both men jumped in their seats as a boisterous segment from “Dr. Feelgood” cut through the silence.

“Shit, sorry!” said Carlos, fumbling through his pants pockets for his phone, “I really need to change that. I, uh, I’ll just go take this.”

“Take your time,” said Cecil as Carlos hurried outside.

Cecil relaxed into the back of the chair, his gaze jumping around the interior. The floor was made up of brown tile. He watched as the colors melted upwards and brightened. There was a hulking soda cooler in the corner of the store, but it hurt for Cecil to look at that for too long; hues came off it like flames.

He tapped the sharp tips of his tar colored fingernails against the surface of the table. He could feel the coarse texture of sandstone through the material of his pants, and the sharp waves of heat rising up from it. It ran parallel with the feeling of the cool, smooth plastic he was currently sitting on. Off in the distance of the sand-wastes he wasn’t currently in there was a heavy metallic thud, and a feeble gurgling sound. He felt the flimsy weight of a box of smokes held in his right hand as the grotesque sounds grew weaker. Cecil quickly shut his third eye. He just needed a little bit of rest. A break from things he shouldn’t know. The colors settled back into place like sand falling in water, and Cecil felt like he settled back into place too.

Carlos came back through the heavy glass doors looking disappointed.

“I’m so sorry Cecil. They need me back at the lab,” he said.

Cecil stood up, third eye wide open again.

“Well then, you’ll just have to make it up to me later. Won’t you, Dr. Feelgood?” Cecil said, winking at Carlos.

Heat surged into them as they left the chilled enclosure of Subway. Cecil grabbed Carlos’ hand, pulling him to the first alleyway he came across. The concrete burned through the rubber soles of their shoes as Cecil pressed Carlos’ back into a grey wall. A few cars sped by, but otherwise the townsfolk had retreated from the heat. The smart ones, anyways.

Cecil pressed his lips to Carlos’, threading fingers through hot, wavy strands of his perfect brown hair. Carlos rested his hands on Cecil’s hips, opening his mouth and running his tongue across the jagged tips of Cecil’s teeth, before shifting his head and thrusting his tongue deeper. The serrated metal wheel from a lighter pulled against his thumb, and Cecil felt a sudden burst of flame too close to his skin. He hummed, trailing his hands down to the soft expanse of Carlos’ back, and then down onto the round curves of his ass. The scientist broke the kiss to nuzzle into Cecil’s collarbone and Cecil pulled him in tighter.

“I really have to go,” said Carlos, not moving.

Cecil nodded. The sour taste of cigarette smoke flooded his mouth. Carlos was pressing his lips against his neck, and a whine escaped through Cecil’s teeth. He felt soft, salty-wet heat from the suction of Carlos’ lips against the base of his neck, felt searing warmth against his skin as he pressed his palm into the wall behind them, and felt the suffocating weight of hot air pulled across his tongue as he gasped for breath. He felt smoke fill his lungs, felt the taste stain his lips as it left. Carlos moaned into the skin on Cecil’s throat before stepping to the side, breaking apart from the radio host. A green-indigo blotch remained on Cecil’s neck.

“I don’t know how late I’m going to be tonight,” said Carlos breathlessly. “I’ll text you during your show and let you know. If it’s not an all-night excursion, do you want to maybe… Come over?”  
  
“I’d love to,” Cecil said. His lungs burned.

*****

Cecil took his lunch break at 12:30pm each day. He sat on a large marbled hunk of sandstone, gazing out into the sand-wastes. On his lap sat a bologna sandwich that had been sitting in his briefcase for hours. He’d had thrown together the night before. Behind him stood a mesquite tree; twin trunks covered in ragged chestnut-colored bark, twisting up to a canopy of feather-like leaves and occasionally long pale pods. There were several more in his view, fallen over as they are want to do. Tan sands of the desert stretched flat into the horizon, interrupted by some flora and a few rocks. Sunlight reflected off the sand, creating large patches of bright white.

Cecil rolled the sleeves of his suit up, black bands of tattoos covered his dark brown skin. Several hundred feet away from him there was a half circle of wooden crates, and in the center of them was a man assembling something. It wasn’t Cecil’s job to know what was being assembled. He was just here to supervise.

The job was incredibly, painfully boring, but City Council had come to him and asked in unified, droning voices for him to do this. Of course he agreed to; when City Council asked someone to do something, they did it. Or they didn’t, and they just went around running their mouths about everything on their stupid air conditioned radio show, and for some reason they were the one who to go on dates with sweet, perfect Carlos while the hard-working people got stuck frying their butt on sandstone out in the sand-wastes.   

Cecil shaded his eyes and tried to gauge how much longer the man had until he finished. A few feet away from crates were two members of the Sheriff’s Secret Police. They were clad in balaclava masks and full-body black clothing, which made it difficult for Cecil to complain about having to wear a suit in the desert. One was trying to balance a rusty steel pipe on his forehead, weaving his body with it to keep it upright. The other was clapping excitedly, his pipe nestled in the crook of his arms. That sort of thing meant everyone would be out there for a while. Cecil placed his sandwich next to him, atop of a brown plastic bag, and pulled out his phone.

_Is Carlos there yet? What’s he wearing?_

Cecil typed, glancing up to make sure the man in the distance was still making assemble-y motions. He was. Cecil had really hoped to be finished before noon today. He had planned to stop by and see Carlos, maybe walk past the Subway. Just a glimpse. He’d never seen the gorgeous scientist in person, but he had all these memories. Blurred snippets of the scientist’s lopsided smile, of the weight and softness of his perfect brown hair around Cecil’s fingers, of the warm press of his lips during their first kiss. He remembered the flood of adrenaline that went through his body at that moment, and the feeling that at any moment the prickling across his skin would pull a lightening strike down from the sky. How his mind had felt almost numb with happiness.

More than anything Cecil wanted to experience those feelings for himself, instead of just riding the aftershocks of it. He was sure one look at Carlos would be enough. In his most fevered day-dreams he envisioned Carlos turning and seeing him as he walked past the window. Those soft, perfect eyes of his sparking with recognition, and he would give Cecil a lopsided smile full of teeth like a military graveyard.    

A cubby of quail scurried out of a bush, squeaky clucks pulling Cecil from his thoughts. He watched the little black apostrophe-shaped feathers on their heads bobbing as they ran. The feathers on their body were a flash of grey and tan and red-white flecks as the family ducked under the jutting, thorned branches of another bush. From the crates he heard a scream muffled by duct tape. His phone was a heavy hot weight on his knee, despite being in the shade. Cecil stared down and willed it to do something, but nothing happened. He tried sending another message.  
  
 _How’s his hair today? What science does he have planned?_

He scratched the back of his neck, his nails square and flat. The smiley band-aid on his cheek  was barely hanging on, loosened by all the sweat. Cecil’s black, short curls on his head were completely soaked from the heat. He shook his hand through his hair, trying to air it out, but there was no point. They were going to be here for hours. The man was wasting everyone’s time, screaming into tape and thrashing in the distance instead of assembling. Cecil thought it was pretty rude of the man to make him and the Secret Police Officers stand out in the sun for hours. It wasn’t like people didn’t have better things to do.

His phone sat still upon his knee, no buzzing or flashing lights or obnoxious sounds. No messages. Frustration stilled in Cecil’s chest and throat. It was one thing that he had to work during his and Carlos’ date, but he thought he was at least entitled to some of the date details. He dug his fingers into the keys on the phone.

_I want to see him! I never get to even talk to Carlos. I’ve never touched his perfect hair. You’re always the one who goes on the dates. The only one he knows about._

Cecil watched the oblong red fruit on a prickly pear a few feet away from him. Thick bubbles were swelling on the dark red-purple skin of one of them, stretching under its prickers and releasing trails of steam as they burst. Finally, the fruit fell off and melted into the ground. The pool of liquid was like thick red wine sauce, still bubbling and releasing sizzingly gas into the air. He grabbed his phone and sent yet another text.

_It isn’t fair._

He sighed, and looked on as one of the Secret Police attempted what looked like a loose approximation of Puttin’ on The Ritz, dancing in long strides and twirling his steel pipe. The man surrounded by crates was lying on the ground, not moving, but every once in awhile he’d let out a smothered sob. Which, again, incredibly selfish of him. If this kept up they’d have to go find someone else and start from the beginning. And Cecil was not in the mood to deal with the disposal. The man was wasting more time howling and crying than it would take to assemble whatever it was he was assembling! Or at least Cecil was pretty sure of this, it was hard to say since he wasn’t allowed to know.

His phone vibrated against his leg, and Cecil almost flung across the dirt in excitement. The sender was set in Cecil’s phone as “C.B.”, and read:  
  
 _Look, I’ll let you watch if you stop bugging me every 5 seconds. Alright?_

Cecil bounced his legs against the sandstone.   
  
_Alright._  
  
He replied. A few minutes later he felt a splitting pain in his forehead and his third eye opened. He could feel a cold stream of air hit his body, even as he sat in the hot desert air. If Cecil focused very hard, he could see Carlos, his image blurred and runny as if he was looking through frosted glass, but the image was there. Carlos was there. Cecil reached for his sandwich, trying to take bites in time with his other self so he could pretend he was the one sitting across from Carlos. Their conversation was far-off and unintelligible, like the imaginary arguments heard seconds before falling asleep, but Cecil could make out the low rumble of Carlos’ voice. He couldn’t help but smile, even as the nasty taste of turkey and cranberry filled his mouth, meshing with his otherwise perfect sandwich.

The man who was assembling things heaved himself up and flung himself on the ground again, a cloud of dust and sand rose from the impact. Behind him several sparrows took to the sky, brown and  black contrails lingering behind them as they went. Cecil stared at the sand-wastes as they radiated earthy tones, all the colors flowing upward. The man was trying to heave his body away from the crates. There was something wrong with his legs, but Cecil couldn’t see what. It was his job not to know what.     

There was a sputtering sound and a thud as two more prickly pear fruits fell to the ground, oozing into the sand. Pipes in hand, the two secret police officers walked towards the man. The man let out another muffled scream, kicking his legs helplessly against the ground. His chin was bleeding, rubbed raw by the sand and rock as he tried to escape the policemen. Cecil looked away. He’d rather be looking at Carlos, eyes shining and his hands moving excitedly. He’d rather be looking at anything else. But Carlos wasn’t there, all he saw was dusty brown tile, and the feeling of smooth cold plastic while surrounded by chilled air.

Cecil couldn’t focus, not with the black clad man swinging the pipe at the squirming man, missing his head, the blow connecting his shoulder which caved in with a pop. There was a howl still muffled by tape, the sound ending in a sharp whine. Cecil sat on the scalding limestone, tremors of anger moving throughout his body. Why did the man have to go and make the secret police do this? Why could he just do as he was told, just go along with what was asked of him? Why was it so hard for people to understand that going against Night Vale meant getting hurt? These rules, these laws, these limitations… They were only there to keep everyone safe. Why didn’t people understand?

The second blow hit the man’s skull, a loud snap of steel meeting bone cut through the air. The man gurgled, the sound coming not from his mouth but through his nose. Blood seeped onto the sand, and Cecil stood up and turned the other way, fumbling around his pockets for a pack of smokes. He tried desperately to see the other place, to see perfect Carlos, but the connection had been cut. Within minutes the blood had dried, a red stain on the sand-wastes. Cecil pulled out a cigarette and approached the secret police to discuss what to do next.

*****

Carlos walked along a light sand trail through the desert, a mossy green backpack bouncing against his back with every step. His hair was sweat-soaked; a couple of strands kept getting loose and sticking to his face. There were long arms from cacti littering the trail, covered in yellowish spines that were so plentiful it almost looked like fur. The cacti they came from stood just a few feet away. Their tops looked almost stuffed with slender arms, leading down to thin brown bases. Cecil had told him to be careful not to touch these particular cacti. Apparently they’d latch onto clothes and into skin with the lightest touch. And if you didn’t call them the next day the entire cactus would appear in your front lawn with a box of melting chocolates and a sappy poem. Cecil hadn’t explained how someone would even go about calling a cactus, or if he even managed that, how he would know he was talking to a cactus, so Carlos had decided just to steer clear of them all together.

He’d been called away from his date to do lab work, and then found himself being sent out to the desert a few hours later to collect cactus fruit. Apparently the fruits were turning overly acidic, , and many had already eaten away at themselves. Several citizens out hiking had reported the melting fruit the day before. Carlos had already come across bright puddles of liquid at the bottom of cacti and scooped some of that into a dish, but he really wanted to find an intact sample of fruit. He’d passed quite a few cacti with Telly’s signature buzz cut through their spines and felt hugely guilty, but he hadn’t seen a single fruit yet.

A grey rabbit ran across the trail, ducking under the dusty branches of a bush with tiny groups of green leaves covering it like a wispy cloud that only provided a meager amount of shade,. Carlos swore he could smell rain, but of course there was no humidity in the air and no clouds overhead, just the shining sun and a large expanse of bleached sky. He felt incredibly tired; with every step his pack became heavier, his clothes stuck closer to his body, and the incredible heat seemed to sink further into him. An empty plastic water bottle rattled in his backpack, which he had stupidly finished at the start of the trek, thinking it would keep him hydrated during. He swallowed the spit in his mouth, throat muscles sticking together momentarily as they constricted.

After an hour, or maybe ten minutes--Carlos was having difficulty telling time, and even if he had a watch it’s not like the damn thing would work anyways--he came across a short fat cactus topped with bright yellow fruit. He slumped his shoulders and slit his backpack off. His fingers felt swollen and oily as he grabbed the searing hot metal zipper, opening the pack and grabbing tongs. He felt light-headed as he used the tongs to pluck the yellow fruit and place it in a container, accidently dropping the fruit several times.

In the distance he thought he heard voices chatting, and a muffled yelling sound. Carlos threw everything back into his pack and got up, staggering towards the noises. The desert seemed to swell in front of Carlos, like everything was bearing down on him. He could see two black shapes ahead, their images wobbling back and forth like the reflection of the moon on the sea. A voice called to him, sonorous and deep. Carlos turned and his body swung, he fell back onto the ground. A man ran up to him, his skin a darker brown than Carlos’ and his hair curled. The man opened his mouth and Carlos heard Cecil’s voice, but scratchier, asking if he was okay. His face, the man’s face, was tense with worry, and it looked like there were tears in his eyes. Carlos wanted to say something, a lot of things actually, but his mouth was so dry he couldn’t even open it. Then a painful, dizzying sensation crashed into him and everything faded to black.

            

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr, as always, is http://f1rstperson.tumblr.com/


End file.
